The Number One Secret To Writing

I'm feeling rather mischievous about this.

There is a lot of advice out there for writers. Some of it is helpful and some of it is not. A lot of it just depends on defining what your goals are and figuring out what works for you, but there is one very important element of writing that is very seldom addressed. This, my friends, is the number one secret to writing, which is, of course . . .

. . . that there is no number one secret to writing.

I pause here and indulge in a wicked grin while you groan and roll your eyes.

Wait. Come back. Forgo the scythes and pitch forks a moment. There is more.

There are a lot of elements we discuss when deciding how we are going to write a book --tone, characterization, plot, setting, whether or not to use adverbs --but, in the --slightly altered-- words of Jack Sparrow “That's what a book needs. What a book is –what a book really is –is a story.” There is something intangible and altogether undefinable hidden in the pages of a good book that really can't be pulled apart into all those little elements that hold it together.

Musician call it musicality. Actors call it presence. Dancers call it grace. You don't have to be born with it but you can't really learn it either. Not with a list of rules and techniques. You can only find it, hidden somewhere deep within yourself. All the tricks to help you define your prose and increase your tension can help you showcase it and improve upon it but the finger that points to the moon is not the moon itself. Relying on the rules is like having a keel and a hole and a deck but no ship.

There is no secret –or legion of secrets –that will make your writing good. You can do everything right down to the last detail and still have a rotten story. You can have characters that are underdeveloped, a plot full of holes, and awkward prose but still have a story that is pure magic.

Find your story and tell it. That is the number one secret to writing. In fact, it is the only secret.

(also you still have six days left to enter the Magical Stranger contest for Literary Idol)

Oh No!

Last week I finished my first beginning to end draft of the novel I have been working on for five years.(Hooray!) Most of the individual chapters have all been edited a time or two though so I think I'll call it draft 1 1/2. At any rate as I sat typing the last few pages, a thrill of disbelief surging through me (five years really is a long time)my brain ran into some serious trouble. Ideas. For a sequel.

I've sworn up and down a thousand times that this book will not have a sequel. I have too many other projects squirming in line for a place on my front burner. Besides, a lot of sequels aren't done very well and suck the joy out of the original book after you read them. I tried to write one once. It didn't work. So when ideas started niggling at my mind awhile back about what happens to some of the characters I thought well, maybe a short story or two that happens in the same world. I could live with that. But here I was typing out the very last pages thinking "Ah, finished at last" (except for you know that whole editing process) and suddenly they aren't just vague ideas anymore. I'm seeing a plot direction, threads that pull together, flashes of dialogue, new sets, a connection to some folk takes I had wanted to novelize years ago but had forgotten about and a whole swirl of colors.

This may sound strange but I know I'm in trouble when I start seeing colors. Every manuscript I've actually finished has a very distinct color I associate with it.

"The Stable" --Chestnut

Sirela --Blue and Silver

Criminal Mastermind --White. With shades of gray.

Ruler of Geal --Amber. In Various shades and textures.

The colors aren't visible in the actual execution of the writing or any kind of theme or anything. They're just somewhere in the back of my mind when I think about that story, holding it together. Probably connected more to tone than theme. . .

So will Ruler of Geal have a sequel? Very possibly. A red and orange sequel,though focusing on a different protagonist altogether. I still say it needs to wait in line behind all my other projects but who knows? It's not like I'm in control here or anything.

Conversation Inside My Head

Me: Hello, I'm Taryn. I am going to be your author.

Blokey: Charmed I'm sure but I don't actually have a story. I charge people to patch up their stories. Or destroy them depending on your perspective.

Me: Sounds like a story to me. What did you say your name was?

Blokey: I didn't.

Me: Ah, well do you think--

Blokey: No.

Me: Can I ask why not?

Blokey: You just did.

Me: Could you answer?

Blokey: The question or the name?

Me: Preferably both.

Blokey: Would you answer if you had a slew of unsatisfied revenge clients on your resume?

Me: Are you always this evasive?

Blokey: Do you always ask this many questions?

Me: I'm your author not a reporter. I won't tell anybody anything you don't want them to know.

Blokey: Except your readers, editors and people at cocktail parties.

Me: I don't go to cocktail parties.

Blokey: Nevertheless.

Me: I'll make a deal with you. You tell me your name and I'll let you narrate your own story. You don't have to reveal anything you don't want to.

Blokey: Blain Fairchild.

Me: I'm your author. I know when you're lying.

Blokey: Blain Thornton then.

Me: You're sure about the Blain are you?

Blokey: For the purpose at hand.

Me: Bugger it. All I need is a baby name book. I'll find your name eventually.

Blokey: Take your time.

(I read through a stack of baby name books and the archives at behindthename.com)

Me: Look, if you don't tell me your name I'll turn you into a hero. You'll come charging in the last few pages of the book and save the day.

Blokey: You already did that.

(with a sigh I read through the phone book, a list of America's most wanted and the church directory)

Me: If you don't tell me you're name I'll kill you off in the last scene.

Blokey: No you won't. If you kill me off I won't be around for the sequel.

Me: I'm not writing you a sequel. I hate sequels.

Blokey: I hate heroism.

Me: Bugger it.

Blokey: You already said that. You're not even British. Why do you fantasy nerds always swear in British?

Me: 'British' isn't a language and you're getting off subject. You're going to make mly dialogue ramble.

Blokey: I think its a combination of Tolkien and Pratchett influences with the subconcious knowledge that most western folk lore popularized in the U.S. originated on the British isles.

Me: Please don't monologue.

Blokey: I never monologue.

Me: Ha.

Blokey: Internal doesn't count.

Me: Tell me your name or I'll give you a white charger to ride while you save the day.

Blokey: Don't make me sick.

Me: I will. With a long mane flowing in the wind. You will be wearing armor that glints in the sunlight, a huge feather in your helmet and carry a glimmering sword.

Silence

Me: Well?

Silence

Me: Don't you at least have something frustrating to say?

Silence

Me: Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my.

Blokey: You sound like one of my clients.

Me: You don't know do you? Well of course you don't. You were a foundling. Madam Leona never bothered to give you a name. You were just the errand boy. An outsider. You never had a story of your own. That's why you got to be so good at manipulating the outcome of other people's stories. I'm right aren't I?

Blokey: I don't suppose there would be any point in denying it?

Me: I'm your author. I know everything about you.

Blokey: Except my name.

Me: Bugger it.

Blokey: About that white charger. And the shiny sword.

Me: Don't worry. Even I'm not that cruel.

Do You Trust Your Story?

In doing research on alchemy for one of my manuscripts I was surprised by how much accuracy I had already put into my alchemist character (because, of course, waiting until I am finished before drafting is unheard of, involving, I don't know, logic or something). Some of this, like his involvement with the stars, herbs and explosives as well as turning metals into gold are logical enough. They are all different early branches of chemistry and physics, and probably filtered into my head from various sources I've read in the past and then forgotten about. But others, like his preoccupation with purifying the soul, I was surprised to discover were typical for alchemists. This is good because I won't have to make any major modifications to keep things accurate but it also proves that you can never go wrong in trusting your story. Sometimes you know things you didn't know you knew. You just have to Trust.

Trust. It's not quite the same thing as "believing in". That comes later. After you've finished and are sorting through piles of rejections every week.

Trust. That is when you follow your story even when it pulls you away from your original plan.

Trust is when a brilliant second opinion tells you to make a change that you just can't even though logically it would make sense (be careful with this one, I'm not trying to say not to be open to criticism. That's important too.)

Trusting your story is when you chase it through a draft at lightning speed or respect the fact that it wants to take things slow and enjoy the scenery.

Trust is knowing that your story knows what it is doing even if you don't.

Which actually means that you do know what you're doing and you just don't know it because your story is a part of you.

Do you trust your story?

(Don't forget to send me a piece for this months Literary Idol)